


100 Days

by abluecanarylite



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Coming of Age, Elves, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-12-07
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluecanarylite/pseuds/abluecanarylite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyna of the Dalish clan Mahariel has been ripped away from everything she's ever known to save her life and soon a world of others from the taint of the Darkspawn and the Archdemon Urthemiel. It will take a handsome assassin to lead her back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a story I started posting on ff.net. It's taken me forever to work on it, but it's still fun to write. Unbeta'd, like most of my work.

**001\. Beginnings.**

It was late in the evening when they finally set up camp, each of them weary and almost to the point of collapse. Only Morrigan had any energy to throw what scraps and herbs they had into a pot and call it supper.  
  
The quiet of the campsite rung in her ears, making Lyna feel uneasy. All the nights before had been chatty and pleasant amongst their tents, but tonight a shadow sat out of sight, slowly assembling his tent. Even though Zevran’s back was turned, she knew he was listening for any sign that they were whispering about him. She could sense the defenses building up all around his body, ready to survive through wit and charm alone if he had to. He was easier to read than he knew. He was Elven, despite himself, and the earth hummed at their feet as it reconnected their roots, welcoming him back to his people without him knowing it.  
  
Lyna blinked, realizing she had been staring and Morrigan was pressing a crude bowl of soup into her hands. “Wake up, this slop isn’t edible cold.” Her voice went down an octave, almost a whisper between them. “And don’t you dare give him anything.”  
  
She glared at Morrigan’s back as she left, wishing she had the gall to throw something at the human’s head. It was a wonder how they got along.  
  
Everyone drew into their tents for the night, tired and wanting to eat in peace, she supposed. The elven assassin had caused so much tension in the last few hours of the day that it was a wonder he didn’t sneak away when they weren’t looking.  
  
She, despite her company, felt differently. Lyna drew several ladles of soup into a bowl and stood, stepping quietly towards Zevran’s tent so as not to startle the camp. The ex-assassin immediately heard her, looking up from sharpening his blades.  
  
“Are you sure you want to feed the man that just hours ago tried to kill you?” The elf smirked, if only slightly. There had hardly been time for him to collect himself before they were off again and he looked it.  
  
“Last I remember, _Lethallin_ , you were _paid_ to kill me. I carry no ills for you, only Loghain.” She handed him the bowl and took a seat where the glow of the fire could reveal their faces. “Even, it would be a great burden on me to kill a fellow elf, especially one who has not been welcomed back into the clans.”  
  
The smirk died a little, curiosity hidden under a cautious glint that held her in the firelight. “What did you just call me? I’ve been called many things, but that word escapes me.”  
  
She took a bite of her stew and hid her smile behind her spoon. “It means “friend”. _Abelas_ , I meant no harm by it if that offends you.”  
  
The smirk returned full force, his white teeth gleaming in the yellow light. “Ah, you feed me and call me friend after an afternoon of almost killing each other. If this were another life, we would be making love by firelight in Antiva by now.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she found herself biting back a laugh. “Oh, and such a suggestive bite of the lip - you tease me, woman.” Zevran leaned back, a hand to his chest, a true smile gracing his lips, she realized, before he quickly tucked it back into hiding.  
  
Lyna heard him give a small, tired sigh, half hidden by a bite of stew. “I’m sorry, Zevran, I should leave you be. You’ve had a long day and you need your rest.”  
  
She went to stand, but a smooth, firm hand took her own and drew it to warm lips. Hot breath grazed her skin and she felt her body shiver as Zevran kissed her hand.  
  
“Thank you, Warden. You have made a grateful man of me. I am in your debt.” He let her hand slip from his as he took another bite from his bowl. “Good night.”  
  
Lyna felt her skin flush suddenly, clutching her soup bowl tightly. Without realizing it, she took only a step back towards her tent before turning around again. “ _Vir Adahlen, Lethallin_. Sleep well.”  
  
Without another word she rushed off to her tent, sets of curious eyes at her back.


	2. Sixth Sense.

It was dusk when Zevran had returned from the baths to finish packing. They would be leaving the Mage Circle in the morning and he still needed to square away what provisions the Mages had given him. There had been few spare clothes, food, and extras that were salvageable, but they were insistent.

He was grateful, but felt uneasy about staying any longer in the tower. Something felt as if it were searching him out. It was a desperate nagging that pulled at his psyche and he wished it would go away, lest he search it out himself and rid the pest.

“Ser?” A girl’s voice startled him suddenly, a rare feat for non-assassins.

He turned to find several Elven apprentices, youths of all ages, looking as though they hadn’t left each other’s sides for days.

“Yes?” Zevran tried to make himself say more, anything to break the cold fear welling up in his stomach, but their familiar faces somehow shut him off.

“It’s good to see you haven’t lost your tie to the Roots, children.” Lyna replied, appearing beside him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come here.”

She motioned for them to come to her and they leapt into action, tears pouring down their faces as they wrapped arms around her in any way possible. Zevran kept back, surprised by her sudden serene nature. She clutched a child’s head, resting hers on its matted red hair. She caught his eye and frowned, the feeling of dread threatening to burn a hole in his stomach. His entire being screamed for him to runaway, to get as far away from such an emotional display lest he be moved in any way. It was a part of his training. A part of how he had survived for so many years.

It had been so long since he had seen anyone show such affection for complete strangers.

Lyna’s head rose up and she stood straight, the children seeming to regain their composure. She reached out and took one of the older apprentices, barely seventeen years of age, by the shoulders. The young man’s eyes held back enough pain to bring about demons that very moment, and it made Zevran shudder as the Gray Warden placed a kiss on his forehead, speaking a prayer against her mark.

“Mythal and Elgar'nan guide thee and ease your loss. May Falon'Din bring you to her in your passing. Dirthamen send his ravens Fear and Deceit to those who took her from you.” She pulled back, her hands clutching his face. “ _Lethallin_ , it is up to you to unite your people here. Mage or not, you are still of Elven blood. We must stand strong or we will never have the strength to raise Elvhenan again. Do you hear me child?”

He nodded, the strain in his face ebbing away with every breath. “I will, Gray Warden. I will.”

“You all will rise above this cage and root again, I swear it. Gods bless you and find you in the Beyond. Be wary of Fen’Harel, he will trick you if you stray. So keep your clan safe, _Lethallin_. Don’t let this happen again.” She let her hands fall and looked around at the young faces surrounding her. “You are clan, my brethren. No matter if you hailed from the Alienages or were stolen from the Dalish. Mythal protect you, and I hope to return to see you again, wise as you are brilliant. Understand?”

“Yes, Gray Warden!” They said in unison, their spirits lifted. It was as if a dark mist had faded and the firelight above their heads glowed brighter.

She waved them away with a smile that hid a softness rarely seen in battle. “Go, come back before supper, and I will tell you of your Pantheon and the way of your people.”

The children ran off, their steps lighter than before. It left him shaking, but he clenched his fists to hold it back the best he could.

When they were alone in the hallway, the hum of silence deafening, Lyna turned to him and closed the distance between them. Before he could comment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held onto the back of his head with her hands. “Breathe deep and close your eyes. Think of a forest clearing…”

Despite himself, he did as he was told, relaxing as her body pressed against his. A weight was melting away and it felt as if Lyna was sifting through him. She was touching something he wasn’t ready to give and his hands unconsciously clutched at her hips, squeezing them with a groan.

For a moment he saw the clearing and Lyna’s calm, quiet face, but somewhere in her Beyond there was something watching. They were too close to it all. All the magic in the air was affecting any sense of calm he might have gotten from Elven magic. It scared him, whatever it was she was doing…

And then it was gone. The shake, the feeling of dread – it had vanished with the wolf at his back.

Her body fell away from his before he realized his eyes were still closed and she was staring up at him. Zevran quickly hid right before her eyes, offering her a familiar smirk to ease her mind.

“If you are not careful, my dear Gray Warden, the Templars will lock you up too.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leaned in close. “You’ll have to teach me that trick later.”

“You already know it, _Lethallin_. We are all connected…” Lyna frowned, her eyes tired and full of a want he couldn’t place.

Suddenly, boots sounded heavily against the stone floors before Sten appeared behind Lyna. “Warden, the mages are offering food. They command your presence.”

Her eyes lingered on his before she turned and smiled at Sten. “I’ll be right there. Make sure Alistair doesn’t boil anything.”

As Sten disappeared back down the hallway, Lyna reached out and lightly grasped his hand. He was surprised that it shuddered like his had earlier.

“Children are louder than their elders.” She explained. “That’s why we can sense them from miles away. I didn’t want you to suffer, especially not after such a nightmare.”

Her hand fell back to her side and she turned away, leaving him to watch as her hand visibly shook from the cold dread he once felt.


	3. Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of love and appreciation to Courtney (irvys_sefie) who co-wrote this with me (she wrote Zevan and she does a fantastic job at it). Though she was unable to finish the story with me, I really enjoyed writing with her. I apologize if the ending is not up to par with the rest of the story. I just wrote it and have been out of the DAO fandom for way too long.

The trek back into the lower temple was spent in agonizing silence, Lyna vibrating with a loss that they could not understand. There were no words for the pain they had seen darkening her usually bright eyes when the specter in the form of her dear friend Tamlen took shape. A new necklace hung around her neck, shimmering in the light of the rising sun. It reflected the world around her and each of them in turn. It was a reality that she had not wanted back in her life, they realized, but a mirror followed her and would do so until she could forgive herself for the deeds that brought her to them.

Still, her eyes were blank, her body stiff and unwelcoming even in light of the beauty in Andraste’s Ashes.

It was in the crisp air of the high dragon’s flying grounds that she changed. Zevran saw it out of the corner of his eye, watching her and the beast flying above their heads. He had never seen such a rage in those sea eyes. They crackled with an energy he knew had the desperation of a broken people only healed by the hunt and the wild.

Bending low, she grabbed a rock out of the snow and wrapped it in her sling shot. He slowed just enough that he was out of her swing range, but close enough that if anyone went to try and stop her he would intervene.

No one could have anticipated such a sudden act from their leader. She swung the sling around their heads, making the air sing before Lyna dashed forward. Wynne and Leliana cried out her name, Morrigan transformed into a spider for easier escape into the ruins as Sten and Alistair started after her. Zevran stopped those that he could, his arms barely holding them back.

“No! She has to do this alone!” Zevran yelled, remembering such tests with the Crows.

This was something deeper, full of an honor none of them could fathom.

The dragon flew low, screaming angrily at them before Lyna neared its landing spot. Alistair pushed past him, but Sten stayed watching with an interest that rivaled a king’s execution.

It was then that a guttural cry echoed out across the snow-covered canyon – the young elf woman the source. He could hardly believe the ferocity in her battle cry as she neared the beast and leapt onto its back. Her twin blades sunk into its hide, her climb a painful stab into its spine before she wrapped her legs around its neck and let her blades round the tender skin beneath its chin.

The dragon cried out, angry, surprised – scared – before it dropped, squirming and eventually dead. Even from the distance between them, he could feel the pain of the act and the anger it came from.

Lyna decapitated it at the base of its neck, taking her time to work off the layer of hide that held its protective scales. Morrigan had already reverted back to her human form, nearing the kill without trouble as she was allowed to take inedible organs for her spell work. Alistair was met with heavy eyes that caused him to wave apologetic hands at his friend. Zevran almost felt bad for the man. Friendships affected a hunt and she wasn’t going to have him spoil such a catch. She did her best to calmly ask him to retrieve the hide and carry it for her, but he could see the pain in Alistair’s face.

How could he understand? What could anyone say that would explain the ways of the Dalish? There was nothing simple in anything Lyna did, a woman now suddenly revealing her pain like a reflection and her anger with the quick death of a blade.

Alistair would just have to learn her innocence was protected with the end of an Elven sword and the bite of her upbringing.

“I am surprised such a small Elven female could take on a high dragon.” Sten said quietly. He was fully aware that if Lyna heard him in her current state she might “accidentally” shove him off the nearest cliff edge.

“My friend, you are looking at a woman who was taught to use pain to survive.” Zevran looked up at Sten. “I, for one, will simply be happy to eat something other than the scraps of deer.”

Sten looked back down at him with scathing disbelief. “You intend to eat the dragon?”

“Of course!” He retorted. “Even if it were not a delicacy in Antiva - to turn down the hunt of a woman who single-handedly killed a high dragon would be very foolish. I would not wish such an insult on anyone.”

"So you say. I am more interested in what can be made from the beast's hide than its meat. If we _had_ to stop in order to slay the thing then we can at least harvest it of all its uses."

Zevran nodded, motioning towards Alistair as he rolled the hide in disgust. “Then I believe, my qunari friend, that we best offer her our able hands. It seems the Dalish waste nothing as well.” He grimaced at the amount of blood covering their leader. “The kill could have been a little more… cleaner.”

"Unless you have experience in slaying dragons, I suggest you hold your judgments. Or stay here, if the sight offends your delicate sensibilities." He had never been one for banter, especially post-battle. Without another word, the stoic warrior turned from the Antivan and began his stride toward the fallen dragon.

“Ha!” Zevran began, but sighed, eying Lyna again. She looked as though the kill had calmed her, purpose back in her hands as she released meat from bone.

Her eyes suddenly met his across the space that separated them. They were sad still, but only a flicker of it shown through. She needed his familiarity, his ease. “Zevran!” She waved a blade above her head. “How much can you carry?”

Zevran let his smile show, despite the gore around him. “As much as you need of me, my fair Warden!”

It was all that she needed. “Good, find as much clean snow as you can and pack the meat in the hide. Tonight, we eat like kings.”

* * *

It was late in the evening when they had set up camp in the lower temple. Some of the meat they had salvaged from the dragon was already half eaten, but Lyna had left her cut of it untouched, not feeling as hungry as she had hoped. She felt sick and needed a walk -needed to get the image of Tamlen out of her head. Her hands were twitchy and she still felt as if there was so much to do before they ventured back to Redcliffe.

Lyna stood, wrapping her leftover meat in parchment to eat later. They had salvaged so much already from the dragon they would have to see to acquiring one of the wagons in Haven, just until they reached Redcliffe. She wouldn’t waste anything. Not even a scrap of meat. They would not suffer hunger because of her.

Without telling them, she started for the rooms on the first floor, her bag empty and ready for any salvage she could carry. It would keep her busy and with miles and miles clear of any human, she would not be hindered by her finds.

“Surely you aren't planning on turning in for the night so early, my dear Warden. There are still a few more hours left for celebration, no?" Zevran says from behind her, lounging against a wall in the hallway.

“Oh!” Lyna looked back at the Antivian, embarrassed that she hadn’t been able to sneak by him. She should have known better. “I… just needed…” Sighing, she motioned towards the stairs. “I needed a walk… to clear my head. It has been a long day; I suppose is one way of looking at it.”

"No doubt," he agreed automatically, tilting his head to the side just enough so that his ever-present-smirk appeared to widen into what could almost be mistaken for a pitying smile.

But he could never pity her, of course.

Zevran didn’t have a lot of room left in himself these days for useless sentiments like pity –there wasn’t a need for such a thing when one is constantly crossing blades with Darkspawn, after all- but even if he did, he wouldn’t dare look at _her_ in such a way. She was a creature who didn’t need the pity of another, no matter what she might have experienced.

She would never have accepted it, and, in truth, he preferred her that way. Whatever she had faced in her life, she had accepted fully, and in doing so had squashed any budding room for pity under her boot long ago. So, while his expression might have projected it, he was confident that she wouldn’t begin to think that he, an Antivan assassin, was starting to patronize her.

There was some sympathy in his smile though, however if he’d had it his way he would have gladly stuffed that away as well. But it slipped through all the same. Ah well. Some things cannot be helped. He knew all about “long days”.

“Tell me; is it a custom in Ferelden for one to take on a dragon all by oneself? Because in Antiva… well, actually, there aren’t that many dragons terrorizing Antiva. So I suppose it _is_ a Ferelden thing! Ah, the things you learn just by asking the right questions!”

Lyna let herself laugh, if softly, at his prying. “I have heard of human knights who risk life and limb to kill High Dragons so as not to destroy villages, but there are few elves that would do the same. Not anymore.” She turned and started up the stairs, a part of her hoping he would follow. “Dragons usually keep to our ruins, so only if we need shelter will we disturb such creatures. They birth so many of their kind in one spring that another will probably replace the one I killed before the next year. That is, if the Chantry doesn’t make this place their home. I doubt they would give up such a find.”

Looking back again, she couldn’t help but force a smile. “To answer your question, at least in my time, no elf has found reason to slay a dragon single handedly. I will say that if need be, a skilled hunter or threatened Elven mother would be able to. Emotion can be a deadly weapon – but you know this.”

He _had_ followed her, of course. As if there had been any doubt that he would! As she’d turned to make her way up the stairs he waited a few breaths longer before pushing himself away from the wall with the foot that he’d had propped against it, sauntering silently after her. He hadn’t really expected her to delve too deeply into dragon lore with him, but he remained the obedient student as she spoke: listening to every word diligently and with interest. Well now, she truly _was_ forthcoming with information when she wanted to be, wasn’t she?

Pity, then, that she refrained from sharing the more intimate details of herself when questioned. He understood quite well the necessity behind shielding your more vulnerable spots, but she was almost better at hiding away than even he was! Well, perhaps she _was_ better… after all; she had managed to pry loose one or two of his better guarded stories, had she not?

“I do at that,” he agreed at last, grinning at her. “Emotion is a far better assassin than any Crow, I must admit. Though… don’t tell anyone that I told you that. It can do the job of killing a man better than any professional blade could ever hope to, for the simple reason that it makes every strike hot. Blows that come from a heated hand do far more damage than any cold strike from an assassin, and while we bring an art to what we do… there is still nothing quite so devastatingly beautiful as a raging fire. Consuming and unable to distinguish friend from foe. It’s a marvelous sight, really. A Crow can kill a target, but a good, strong emotion can… kill a dragon. Is that not right, Lyna?”

She bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair. “Yes, a strong emotion…”

Making her way up the stairs, Lyna managed to get into one of the bedrooms on the second floor before turning to Zevran, pillows in hand. She needed to fill the silence between them. She needed to fill in holes so she would stop falling through them every time she told him stories. No one listened like he did. She had realized that when he joined their journey – but she was leaving out something he had a right to know. Everyone had heard a version of it. Everything they needed out of her tale. So she worked a weave for Zevran, a telling of it just for him.

“Did I… ever tell you how I came to be a Gray Warden?” She asked, setting the pillows aside to pull off sheets and blankets to fold and pack.

He had kept a careful distance between them, having no intention on venturing too closely toward an ember that might still have some flame left in it. There was no telling when it would suddenly spark back to life, as he’d learned in the past, and getting burned now would have been most regrettable. But, ah, now wasn’t a time to be thinking in metaphor, as he’d just learned. She was willing to talk, and so he was willing to draw in closer. Not enough to get in her way, but enough that he could watch her busy herself. There was a level of normalcy in her movements, and that allowed him to ease into a response to her question without much pause. It was a fortunate thing too; any great hesitation and she might assume he was uninterested in her story!

"Ooh, there's a story behind it, is there?” he purred, enjoying the opportunity to play with his answer. He liked teasing her. It was good enough to get a reaction at all out of her, but better still to be able to see her rise to the challenge. “And here I was, thinking it was nothing more than some boring ritual that involved drinking blood and seeing dragons! In Antiva, we called that a party!"

He laughed, recalling the oh-so-serious nature in which he’d overheard Alistair speaking one night. He hadn’t meant to be spying, really, but he hadn’t been able to help himself! The poor human just didn’t know how to quiet himself down! Especially after he’d caught Zevran mid-snoop. But, well, amusing though that memory was, the elf soon realized he was the only one laughing.

"...That was a joke."

Lyna looked up from the sheets and tried to smile, but it looked too forced – too pained. “Where would I be without your sense of humor, Zevran?” She turned back to the bed and started stuffing the sheets in haphazardly, beginning to roam the room and pack anything useful. “The elven man you saw in the Gauntlet was my best friend, Tamlen. He and I were exploring a ruin outside our Clan’s camp when we both became ill with the Darkspawn Plague. It was carried by an old mirror that transported him somewhere… somewhere we could not go. So I was found while he wasn’t. He’s dead… he has to be dead. I’m not even supposed to be alive…” She sighed, gently setting down a book and rubbing her face. “Seeing him again, reminds me how angry I still am at Duncan. He might have saved me, honored me with a title while other men would no sooner cross me, but I cannot forgive him for abandoning my friend.”

She sniffed a little and coughed, avoiding his eyes as she started back to throwing things towards her bag and forcing a smile. “But you don’t want to hear such a depressing story. Not in such a cold place. You want to hear how I was the fastest at learning to bare two swords, but couldn’t perfect the bow to save my life. I was to be the bard of the Clan one day as well, but you probably already know that… It’s hard not to.” Lyna laughed, but it was hollow and her eyes still looked ready to burn away.

He had to admit, in spite of himself and his intentions to be the ear that she clearly needed, he felt a small pang of jealousy in his heart when she spoke of her friend. Whether it was because he himself had never known what it was to be in such a strong friendship… or if it was perhaps it was just the result of his lingering, but undesired, frustration over the…familiarity with which that shade had spoke to her back at the Gauntlet…he didn’t know. He just knew that he didn’t care for the way that she had begun to pace about again. She had finally begun to truly confide in him…to finally express what it was that had driven her to face that dragon alone, and now she was attempting to brush it aside again, to protect herself. He knew that was what she was doing.

He was the master of such things, after all. No one knew the lengths one would go to hide themselves away like someone who was willing to dig even deeper to do the same. Surely she could tell that he was not to sort that would allow her to hide away?

Without a word he stepped forward, catching her by the arm and spinning her to face him. It had been an impulsive movement, and not one that he would have normally attempted if he hadn’t already been fuelled by his frustration. For a moment though, after he had ensured that her attention was on him and not on her domestic task that she was using to disguise her own attempts at self-distraction, he faltered. His hand left her elbow, slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure how it had gotten there, but then he seized her shoulders to keep her from turning back away.

_You’ve gotten this far, Zevran. No backing out now…_

“What I want to hear about,” he began, voice low, despite his certainties that there weren’t any eavesdroppers nearby. “...is what it is that still haunts your steps? I do not know what it is that you so cherished in your Tamlen, but surely he would not have approved of your recklessly tackling a dragon as you did? Do not think that I don’t understand you, Lyna. I know what forced your hand, but what I do not know…and what I suspect, perhaps, even you might not know, is what still lingers in you that refuses to let you steady it.” 

Lyna stared up at Zevran, a short puff of air between them as her breath caught in her throat. Her cheeks burnt red as she was forced to look him in the eye. No being had made her feel the way he or Tamlen had. They shook her out of her naivety and into the age she feared now would never begin for her.

She couldn’t stop the words that spilled from her mouth. “He was to be my betrothed.” Lyna sighed, looking a little relieved before she forced her eyes to close. She hit Zevran lightly on the chest with a fist. “No one was to know that, not even him. I was working very hard to be a proper wife…” Opening her eyes again, she let herself look up at him. “Now, I am tainted and a Gray Warden. My clan may love me as their own, but no elven man will betroth such a woman as I. That is why I risked such a feat, my friend. That is why my blade cuts deep and swift. If I am to die now, then I know that I will not have lived out my final days alone and without companionship. I can only hope that this journey brings me out of the naivety of the elflings. That I may face my Elder with the eyes of a woman and not that of a child.”

Proper wife? Betrothed? They were not words he had expected to hear her say, and yet she spat them out with such passion that he knew that they were not things she bandied about lightly. So, she had loved this Tamlen that much. The fact that his ghost haunted her still; reminding her of what she could never be…it was unfair of him. Whether she’d had a body to bury or not, there was no excuse for it. If he had been worthy of her at all, then Tamlen should have…

…Should have what? It was not so easy for most to stuff away the memories of someone like he had tried to do to Rinna. It was not so easy as to throw yourself at willing blades when you had your hopes left waiting. His throat tightened at the thought, and he frowned down at her.

“Alone?” he echoed incredulously. “You can be many things on this journey, but alone is never going to be one of them. Not so long as you keep me around. The others… they can come too, of course, but you have me ‘til the end. Such was my oath, after all.”

He smiled faintly, moving one hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her pointed ear.

“For what it is worth…” he added softly. “I have never seen a child in your eyes when I have looked at you. Perhaps you banished her away without even realizing it, but, regardless, I see you and see only a woman…”

Lyna flushed under his smooth touch, her ears going pink. She knew her features revealed too much. No one had ever said such things to her, except for Tamlen and Ashalle. His words made her feel as though she had been made a hunter again and yet, a part of her felt small and unworthy of his attention. Something about this rogue from a different clan, from a different country, made his words stand out and filled her with too much joy that she shivered with twitchy nerves. Like his roots were tangling into her own.

She looked off; feeling too exposed by his eyes, but did not pull away. “I have never met an elf quite like you before, _Lethallin_ …” She risked looking back into his eyes.

“Lyna….” Zevran leaned against her forehead, his skin humming against hers. He could not bring himself to reveal such a feeling with words. It was against everything he had ever learned. It felt wrong to say them out loud, and so he simply let his body, as it always did, speak for him.

With trained hands, he grazed her ears with his fingers and brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. She instinctively drew closer, letting him guide her chin up so that their lips met. An inexperienced mouth pressed softly against his and he fought the urge to chuckle.

Lyna felt foolish kissing Zevran, knowing full well he knew what he was doing – but she couldn’t help herself. It filled her with a need to stay there forever, to let him smooth out the rough edges in her heart that had formed in the last few months. Just to have Zevran hold her tightly and help her forget for a moment about her responsibilities. She did not want to remember her losses. She wanted to feel whole.

It was a feeling that made her want to cry.

“Well this definitely isn’t where I left my satchel.” Alistair’s voice broke through the cozy silence Lyna had found herself in and tore her away from Zevran with startled realization. “Oh hello you two, I wondered where you had wandered off.”

Zevran did his best to not glare angrily at the other Warden, but the look in Lyna’s eyes made his fists tense. He had felt her relax against him; felt her breathe him in as if to thank him for that brief moment of relief…

And now it was gone.

“Lyna, do you need help? I saw this lovely book in the other room; let’s see what else we can find.” Leliana brushed past Alistair and Lyna was almost dragging her out of the room.

“I think there was a gown just your size too, Leliana, let’s go…” Lyna glanced sadly back at Zevran before running off, slipping back into her mask as she past Alistair. “Jon has your satchel, Alistair.”

“Ah, thanks Lyna, good luck!” Alistair replied before stepping into the room and towards Zevran. His voice was low. “If you think I’m going to let you charm your way into her tent, you have another thing coming.”

Zevran shook his head, biting back his anger so as not to give Alistair the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to him. “Oh Alistair, I think you’re underestimating your fellow Gray Warden.”

“Lyna’s just a girl. She’s never been around incorrigible men like you who want nothing more than to ruin her…” He waved a hand around, not sure what to imply, but left it at that.

Alistair swerved to meet Zevran in the middle, but the elf dodged his advance and strode out of the room, fearing his actions if left alone for too long with the idiot.

The moment was ruined and he had too much to think about now.

For the first time, he realized, he had taken her in…


	4. Friends

It was early morning when Lyna came to, blinking past a deep sleep that made her eyes hard to open and her body ache. It felt as if she hadn’t taken a breath in days and for a moment she thought she was suffocating. Taking a deep breath, Lyna opened her eyes to find herself beneath the underbelly of a thick hide blanket. She sat up and regretted it, pain shooting through her and rain instantly making her cold. Someone pulled her back down and drew the blanket tightly over her head. It was Leliana, Zevran groaning as he woke and then quickly drifted off again.

“Shh, go back to sleep. You had a fever last night and have just broken past it. Wynne says you are to rest until it passes, or you’ll worsen. The Darkspawn taint isn’t helping, I’m sure.” Her friend brushed her hair away from her wet forehead. “All this travel must have caught up with you. You haven’t slept very well.”

“You’ve noticed?” She whispered, her throat feeling hoarse.

“Of course, someone has to keep an eye on you.” Leliana smiled wide, her voice going low. “Zevran was rather helpful getting you into the wagon undisturbed. Alistair wasn’t too happy about that.”

Lyna blushed, pinching the girl lightly. “Shh! Why are you under here as well?”

She rubbed her arm, but there was barely a mark. “Wynne said it would be best if we were covered from the rain. She didn’t want us to get sick as well.”

It made sense, what with Alistair and Sten having helmets and Wynne and Morrigan being able to keep the rain off with magic, that left them exposed. They just weren’t suited for heavy armor and not many helmets were made for a small head like Leliana’s or elf ears like Zevran and Lyna’s.

Jon snuffled at her feet and the elf smiled. It appeared her hound wasn’t fond of being wet either.

With a yawn, Lyna shivered. A part of her wanted to clutch tightly to Zevran, soaking in his warmth as well as his essence, but it would be terribly rude to invade his space. So she turned to Leliana and sighed, not out of malice, as her dear friend knew, but out of frustration. Life was far too complicated for her in such a state and the simple act of finding warmth and comfort in friends was not something she wanted to work through.

She just needed a friend.

Leliana opened her arms and welcomed her over, holding her close. Her friend hummed a tune, soft and sweet, that lulled her back to sleep, her head swimming with sickness and her thoughts lost to hopes and fantasies.

* * *

In the night, they were quickly escorted into the Eamon’s bedchamber to anoint the Arl with the ashes. Lyna slipped from the room as the priest blessed him and willed the ashes to work. She felt uncomfortable in such a space; uncomfortable with human beliefs. Even after experiencing a part of Andraste and the Maker for herself, she felt as if she was intruding. The great mother and father held many faces, but this was no time to offer such thoughts to the priests eyeing her.

Possible savior or not, she was still a heathen Dalish.

“The ways of man are strange, are they not?” Morrigan startled Lyna, surprised to have been found in a dark hallway alcove.

“They are. While most humans give me their blessing, I hear the priests mutter that I, a Dalish, have disgraced their Andraste’s burial place.” She huffed, “If we are so terrible why was it that I was not struck down? Why is it that they are cursed by their creator and we are not? Maddening beings.”

Morrigan laughed loudly, smothering herself when guards eyed them. “No truer words have ever been said.” She sighed, leaning on her staff. “And where is Zevran, I wonder? I would not have figured him to linger very far from you.”

“Hmm? Oh…” She looked back towards the door to Arl Eamon’s room and smiled. “I think I heard him say that he was curious about how ashes could cure poisoning. It might be very useful for an assassin to know.”

Morrigan chuckled. “Naïve as ever.”

Lyna blinked, not taking her meaning before Leliana rushed out of the room. “Come quick, he lives!”

* * *

It turned out Arl Eamon was unlike the priests that prayed over him, he was thankful and even requested a private audience with her once everything had settled. So much had happened between his waking and supper that she barely had a chance to talk with Alistair about their next move. Before she knew it, she found herself in a confining dress and a room too large to be considered one.

“Mythal protect me…” Lyna muttered, watching as a young elven woman brushed and braided her hair. “You do not have to do this, _Lethallan_ , I can dress myself.”

She laughed. “Not to our lady’s liking, I assure you, cousin. It honors me to do this for you. I have never met a Dalish before and many of the servants have wished to hear your tales of the wilds.”

Lyna sighed, feeling tired, too much so to beg that the girl think of her people more as her own instead of a tale of adventure. “I have never eaten with humans before, except for those I’ve traveled with…”

“I would not know myself. The servants eat in the kitchen with the cook, I’m afraid. If anything, we speak when we are spoken to, that’s all I can say.” The woman tied off the braid with a green ribbon and looked over her handiwork. “Well, you clean up nicely, cousin.” A sudden look of concern washed over the girl’s face. “Odd, you’re flushed in the cheeks as if you’ve a fever.” She felt at Lyna’s forehead and clicked her tongue. “Maybe it’s the dress, you’re not familiar with human clothes, I’m sure.”

Now that she was more aware of herself, Lyna had to admit she was still not feeling very well. Ever since they had left Haven she had felt sluggish and achey. She thought maybe it had just been the journey through the temple, but now everything was too hot and too cold all at the same time and sleep came much easier than it ever had.

Lyna blinked, a heavy blur creeping into her eyes and turned away from the mirror, heading for the door. She had to keep strong. She could not worry her friends, not now, not when there was a Blight getting nearer everyday.

“Thank you for looking after me, I best hurry on to dinner so I do not cause trouble for you.”

“But…” The elf girl sighed behind her, “Be well, cousin.”

* * *

Unlike most nights since the Joining, Lyna discovered her appetite was gone. She sat between Zevran and Leliana and tried her best to stay awake. She felt flushed, her body feeling as if cold water was rushing over her. It was hard to keep track of the conversation.

“Milady, are you well?” Teagan’s voice drew her out of her daze, suddenly feeling confused. How much time had passed since she sat down?

Everyone around her was trying to look as though they weren’t studying her, but she could feel their eyes. She tried her best to straighten herself and look awake.

“My apologies, I’m afraid our journeys have worn me out. I still feel as if I’m moving. We have done so for so long. It is good to be able to settle for a day or two.” She managed, suddenly aware that two servant elves were waiting behind her with soup and ham. “Thank you, may I have only soup and bread please? I would not want to upset my stomach with so much food. I have eaten very little on our journey.” She lied.

The elves smiled and set her dinner in front of her, seeming to brighten at the sight of her noticing them. When they were gone, she started in on the potato soup, forcing herself to eat. It settled everyone’s nerves and conversation began again.

Zevran wasn’t fooled though, catching her eye with his. They studied her and her ears flushed uncontrollably. She hated that he could see right through her without much effort. She couldn’t be sure if it was his training or their connection, but he smirked at her and looked away.

Wiping his hands, he sipped his mead before opening his mouth to surely reveal her. “My good Arl, have you heard the story of how our fair Warden slayed the high Dragon of Haven?”

“Maker!” Isolde gasped, looking to Lyna. She was sure the Orlesian was surprised such a small, skinny being could take on anything bigger than a deer. She smirked around her soup spoon. Humans always underestimated size.

“No Ser Arainai, but please, tell us. I thought it curious how our cook now has a grand supply of Dragon meat.” Eamon chuckled, trying to keep light-hearted that evening as he worked to not speak of the impending war or his poisoning – at least during supper.

Clearing his throat, he stood. “Well there we were, tired and worn from our journey through the cult ridden caves of Haven and the Guantlet’s challenge. Our fair warden had taken the worst of it all, suffering anguish and physical toil. We were ready for camp and sleep could not come too soon – and yet half way to pass back down the mountain, the High Dragon guarding the Urn swooped down and landed in front of us!” Suddenly Zevran dipped low and then swung out his arms as he raised himself up, “She blew us back as she fanned out her wings!”

With the movement, his passing hand struck her mug and caused it to spill mead all over her gown. Its green fabric turned brown and she felt the warm liquid seep down to her undergarments.

“Oh!” She cried out, but it sounded sluggish and muffled to her ears.

“Ah, look at me, so clumsy.” Zevran scolded himself, catching her hand in his. “Here, let us find you a change of clothes.” He bowed, working his charm toward the Arl and Bannon. “Excuse me, Sers, I will continue my story later. I would feel terrible if I didn’t escort the fair Warden back to her chambers.”

Several people chuckled while Eamon sighed, appearing tired even after weeks of sleep. “I believe it is time for me to take my leave as well. Please, make yourselves comfortable in the castle. Whatever you may need, simply ask. Alistair, we will speak in the morning.”

With that, Eamon rose, Isolde following, and slipped from the room. Teagan shook his head and stood as well. “Monsters, mages, miracles – I believe I’m ready for bed as well. May you all rest peacefully, and thank you again for all that you have done.”

Lyna rose, rolling her eyes at Zevran. “I can escort myself, _Lethallin_.”

“Oh ho,” Her friend quirked an eyebrow at her. “But it is so late and what sort of friend am I to leave you to get lost in this human castle?”

She blushed, realizing he had heard her earlier when they arrived. The castle _was_ big and there were many hallways. She could find her way out of the Konari Wilds blindfolded, but the human buildings were cold and lifeless. There was nothing to aid her ranger heart.

Turning to the waiting servants, she bowed “Thank you.” and then to her friends still eating. “Peaceful dreams, my friends.”

“And to you, Lyna.” Wynne said, several ‘Ayes’ heard from the others.

Zevran led her away from the dining hall, leading her down the hall in silence. Standing and concentrating on walking seemed to make her even more ill than eating and listening. She wobbled when they reached the first landing on the stairs and a thin, skilled hand balanced her from the small of her back.

“You are a terrible liar.” He whispered, suddenly too close.

She swayed and instead of falling back onto the stairs, her body was blissful picked up and swung over strong arms. Zevran easily carried her up the rest of the stairs, bringing her into her room down the hallway.

“Cousin!” The elf from earlier seemed to startle her friend as he shuddered before composing himself. She could sense it all in the flex of his arms.

His voice was gentle and rumbled against her ear. “I have her, but a basin of water and a clean wash cloth would be most helpful.”

“Yes Ser!” As the servant ran from the room, Zevran set her on the bed and began to untie her dress.

She weakly swatted at his hands. “I can undress myself…”

He chuckled, stepping away. “Of course.”

Lyna attempted to reach back and untie the drawstring, only getting as far as the middle of her back before she sighed and laid back down. Whatever was affecting her was washing over her fast and making her too tired.

“ _Lethallin_ … I trust you…” She muttered, eyeing him from her place on the bed.

“I would be less of a friend if I were to leave you in such a vulnerable state with only a meek servant to protect you.” He began to untie her laces again, his voice serious. “Why did you not stay in bed, Lyna?”

“Mmm,” Sleep was making her eyes feel heavy and his voice was almost like a lullaby. “I did not wish to worry everyone…”

Her dress loosened, fabric falling away as she drifted. Her undergarments stayed on as a loose nightgown was pulled over her head, smaller hands, the servant’s Lyna was sure, untying her garments so that she could rest easier.

Zevran laid her against pillows as soft as clouds before his voice drifted over her again. It was hard to concentrate on it when every part of her body ached. Sleep was becoming harder to fight...

“Do not dream, _mi dulce_ …”

* * *

It seemed harder to swim out of the darkness of sleep than it had the last time she remembered. Lyna took in a deep breath and drifted in and out of consciousness.

“If she is to recover, she must be given time. The taint has dulled her ability to heal.” Wynne’s hand brushed her forehead. “I will come to check on her later… and _please_ do not bother her too much. She needs her rest.”

Somewhere Zevran chuckled, but she thought she heard his voice grow hoarse.

The world fell away, the darkness pulling her back down. She could sense her elven brothers and sisters around her, some cleaning, some cooking, some simply staying out of the way. She tried to reach out to them, to comfort them, but she was too far away. Their roots were too thin and too hungry to search her out. They knew not her song or the pulse of the earth.

Suddenly, it felt as if the room was too crowded, each elf watching as sickness overtook her. Heat washed over her and no amount of struggling could cool her. She cried out for Ashalle, her mother, her father, for Zevran – but she could not crawl out of the bloody, throbbing darkness.

It was then that hands wrapped around her face and she was dragged out of it. Air washed through and over her, the fever knocking back against her skull. Lyna groaned, clutching onto her savior’s tunic before she realized he had a familiar face.

“You saved me…” Her voice was slurred and she felt as if she had been crying. “Why am I so cold?”

Zevran looked at her closely and sighed, his concerned eyes almost new to her. “You’re fever must be worse, you need Wynne…”

He gently let her go, letting her lie back against the pillows and disappeared. Wynne was over her in a matter of minutes, applying healing salves to help her breath and to cool the skin.

“It is as I feared. All the strain of the last few months has finally taken its toll on her. Her body isn’t used to human disease and here she is in the heart of a human village. I’ve seen the same in the tower. Elven mages become deathly ill upon entering until they adapt. She will need to rest for some time, and be given a sip of this poulice every few hours… but if you stay, you too might become sick, Zevran.” Wynne warned.

“Ah, but it is my duty to risk it, my dear Wynne.” Her friend replied, his weight sinking in beside her.

After a moment, she began to drift back into the darkness again, but not before feeling someone lay with her, pressing a cold rag to her face and wrapping an arm around her waist.

* * *

Lyna woke again, but this time she knew she was between the fade and reality. Dream and waking were blurred by the sudden realization that a high dragon sat before her, wings resting over its shoulders, waiting patiently.

“Ah, Gray Warden, t’was you who called so loudly. I should have known you by your stars; it has always been _you_ that was meant to free me from my inevitable curse.” The dragon bowed his head as she stood, looking at her closely. “A daughter of Mythal as well? I am honored to have you pierce the darkness from my flesh. When I rise again in whatever form the Maker desires, I will seek you and your kind out to thank thee.” He bowed again and chuckled. “My humblest apologizes, I am Urthemiel. The human’s once called me the Dragon of Beauty, an Old God… I am one of the First, those that came before you. There were many before you…”

“How are you speaking to me? Is this a… fever dream?” She asked aloud, curious at how real this all seemed.

“You carry the taint of the Forgotten Ones in you, as do I, this bonds us. Few can speak to the Old Gods, those that came before you, but here we are.” The dragon hunched, sliding down from his spot in the room and curling around her, as if nesting for the night.

She reached out and touched its scales, feeling the sensation of cold through her burning body. This amazed her, having wondered if a dragon’s core was always consumed with fire. “Why do you speak of both the Maker and the pantheon? The two can’t exist together, can they?”

Jaws flashed white, large teeth spreading wide to smile. “There are many things that only the land beneath your feet knows, Gray Warden… Your Bard heart will know one day, but not today.” It reached a paw out and took her hand. “You still worry for your Tamlen, lost to the taint of the Forgotten Ones…”

The fear that this was all a delusion dropped away and Lyna clutched the dragon’s dulled claws. “You know of Tamlen? Does he live?”

“He is neither dead nor alive, a ghost in flesh. That which does not heed my darker call prays for your safety and your…” The dragon suddenly placed his extended paw against her stomach, the sickness outside the dream seeming to rush through her again. “…happiness.”

The sickness made her feel queasy and weak, her legs giving out beneath her. The dragon wrapped around her like a shield, sleep falling over her again. She tried to clutch at the dream, so many questions bubbling up in her throat like bile.

But the dragon saw much more than she did…

“Bring peace, my friend, and find happiness in those who _seek you out_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note (07-31-11): I'm sorry for the delay in getting this out. For a while I really struggled with this chapter and it was even supposed to be longer, but I realized last night that I was done with it! I was already working on this chapter's sequel and I didn't even know it. I hope you enjoy the continuing adventures (love story) of Lyna and Zevran.


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